The electrocuted dragon was forgotten.
Hazel eyes had darkened with a hint of worry and temper.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” she reassured Daemon, her voice a bit nasally.
“Fix her, and then him,” Daemon ordered.
Really, his priorities were cute.
“Gently,” he added when George reached out a big ham sized hand to her dainty nose.
George cupped her jaw instead, holding her face up while he bent down and brushed a butterfly kiss to her nose, a twinge of healing magic mending the minor injury.
His lips lifted an inch from her nose, his blue eyes twinkling with mischievousness that she wasn’t used to seeing from him.
“Is there anywhere else that you’re hurt, kerashemeria?” he whispered, not waiting for a response to kiss her lips while Daemon watched.
"Are you . . . with two princes of Maeren? Geer failed to mention them both,” Raphael said.
She was being kissed, but her sense weren’t completely gone. She answered quickly, not wanting there to be any misunderstandings.
"It’s temporary. George just needs someone to feed from until we get back to his harem,” Elizabeth said.
She hadn’t let either of the princes claim her again. This time, she was going to take her time about deciding and—
“You really aren’t that afraid to play with fire,” Raphael teased, cutting off her denial.
She moaned into George’s kiss.
Daemon was already gathering her hair up off her neck, ready to join his brother for a quick nip.
She felt swollen fangs scrape against the back of her shoulder and a soft inquiry in her mind.
Leaning back, she gave Daemon permission, while continuing to kiss George.
"Can you hurry them up? It’s rather strange to feel you feeding other males while wearing my torq."
"How do you propose I speed things up?" Elizabeth asked.
George sucked her tongue into his mouth. His fangs were so swollen that they protruded a bit, making the kiss awkward, even with his expertise at using his tongue on witches.
He was so damn big every—
"Stop right there,” Raphael ordered.
Raphael was ice on the flames George was trying to fuel.
Giving George’s tongue a nibble of her own to rush him—as ordered by the cross, injured dragon waiting impatiently—she finally pulled free of George’s lips with a tiny gasp.
“Primed enough,” she told him.
“Don’t need to feed,” George said, confusing her as he released her body to his brother.
Raphael seemed to find that amusing until George slapped less gentle hands on Raphael’s burned hide and started healing him.
Daemon pulled out of her neck with a lick.
“I don’t really need to feed either, but you taste so sweet.”
She blushed, knowing that he was referring to his taste of her elsewhere as well.
Daemon had sent the mental image of her spread out in his bed in the castle.
This time, he had her tied to the bedposts, spread-eagle instead of bent over, and his hands were cupping the ass he’d reddened reverently, while he lifted her pussy to his mouth and made love to her with his tongue and lips.
“Daemon . . . Raphael, the torq . . . connects our minds,” she warned him, panting even though he was barely touching her.
It was all in her head and an incredible mind-fuck on par with her illusions.
Daemon let her go, his hands releasing her hips as he chuckled behind her.
She turned around to see him light up, letting white hot flames engulf his body, like the magic he had used to encircle her wrist the first time they met.
The heat was intense, completely unshielded, as he stared at her widening eyes.
He didn’t have to be in her head to know that her fear was creeping back up.
“Kiss me,” Daemon told her, crooking one finger at her to gesture her closer.
He had to be joking.
“Don’t you think you’re taking this getting burned thing too far? I don’t have George’s black to shield me anymore.”
“You don’t need black, sweetheart. Use your lightning and show me the witch all the rogues tell warning tales about in the pubs,” he encouraged, taking a step forward. “My hot, little thief of hearts,” he added, dropping to his knees to make the difference in their height more even.
It was easier to face the fire when they were in a mêlée, everyone firing at each other and speed making the decision for her when contemplation would have chosen differently.
She shielded lightning on her right hand only, reaching out to touch Daemon’s shoulder.
His magic tried to climb past her shield, but she felt him draw it back for her, giving her time to adjust to being slowly swallowed in order to step into the fire herself.
Letting her lightning flicker over the rest of her body, she brushed the barest of kisses over Daemon’s lips, sparking them both with her magic.
Daemon shielded his fire, before letting it engulf them both, and then reached up to grab her head, cupping it from behind.
He crushed her lips to his and thoroughly kissed her until her heart stopped pounding from fear and her whimpers were pleas to never stop.
“Well, it seems your fear of fire has been sufficiently conquered to permit bed play,” George said from somewhere behind them.
“Admit it,” Daemon said, breaking from her lips. “She was magnificent, especially considering she’s had no formal training. She managed to hold her own against an earth-fire general, a lightning-air enforcer, and a fire-water dragon-prince.”
“She’s unorthodox, prone to taking on more than she can handle, and too brave for her own good,” George said, listing weaknesses that she already had heard her mother groan about when she was in a mood. “She’s also more powerful than she realizes, and guidable, if not exactly trainable at her age.”
“You don’t want another puppy on the leash,” Daemon retorted.
Daemon stood up from his knees, whispering for her to turn around and give George her best puppy dog expression.
She got a quick glimpse of Daemon adjusting his leathers before he used air to levitate and gave her a good shove forward, twisting midair.
She used her own air magic to land with more grace.
George cleared his throat loudly. “We didn’t know about her being fire-shy when we discussed her fighting.”
Had this been more than a practice?
It seemed that her skills had been assessed for a test that she hadn’t known that she was being given.
“I don’t need your approval to fight,” she told George.
“True. It’s his approval that you need,” George said, pointing to Raphael.
“The dragon and I had a deal,” she said, quickly flipping mental gears and trying to sort out how Raphael got put in charge. “I am the one who originally bargained for his help.”
"Your bargain didn’t mention that your participation was necessary, only mine,” Raphael said.
"And what makes you think that you can stop me, Puff?"
"I won’t."
She fingered the torq on her neck.
Did that mean Raphael trusted her?
Approved?
“This isn’t a simple hunt of a few rogues by a clever witch hiding in the shadows or the execution of a clan takeover that the dark dragons had already planned before a bedraggled pair of females shamed them into acting early,” Daemon said.
George took over, drawing himself up to his full height as he, too, seem to take her measure anew.
“William and Phillip will have the army our father built over decades at their disposal—and make no mistake, it is not noble vampire sons who will march in those armies, but demons. My mother keeps over a thousand, housed underground in our clan, and every one of them has fire magic.”
Elizabeth waited a moment, making sure they were all aware that she’d heard them and her res
olve was still firm.
“An army from hell? Rai will fit right in.”
George cleared his throat.
She shot him a silencing look.
“I didn’t come to Maeren to save the kingdom,” she said, looking each of them in the eyes individually. “I came here to keep hell in its place, its denizens locked away from the human realm and the peaceful life that my family carved out from the edge.”
She looked at Daemon and asked permission telepathically before revealing the next.
He nodded.
“I met a powerful queen who stood up for what she believed in against incredible odds and came out a bittersweet victor. All I ask now, is for the same chance to fight alongside those that would keep the real demons from turning Maeren into the hell I once believed it to be and spreading their evil greed to the human realm. I want to fight.”
"Elizabeth, you do your males proud,” Raphael said.
“We don’t fight alone,” George grumbled.
“Together,” Daemon said.
“Combining our strengths was exactly what I was thinking,” she agreed, and then she revealed her plan.
It was radical, ambitious, and foolhardy, relying on the most perfect illusion of all.
She was the underdog.
A Last Breath
Phillip
The citizens were quiet.
Phillip had run wild down these streets as a child. All of the princes had enjoyed a trip outside of the castle to shop for treats and play rougher street games with the city boys.
Their father had encouraged it, overriding the protests of their mothers.
Only Victoria had been stuck with guards and a lady-in-waiting, a much lonelier adventure without other children to help amuse her.
Victor hadn’t been allowed to stay back with his sister.
They had learned to downplay their trips in front of Victoria at the end of the day.
Still, there was no denying that this city was a boisterous place, where boys could be boys. Trouble could be found in every corner.
As they’d gotten older, the princes had learned that witches without boring castle manners could be seduced for as little as a glass of mead, fun conversation, and no false promises.
Witches had needs and not all of them wanted the complications that came with a prince the next morning.
Phillip used to disguise himself as another out of town vampire, passing through, looking for a feed for the night. He’d never had trouble finding a witch in an agreeable, generous mood.
It felt so much more honest than the witches in his harem. Although, as he’d gotten older, he’d learned to appreciate that his harem witches had less freedom than those city witches.
They were as trapped as he, and no more to blame—most of the time—for those circumstances.
Eventually, he’d stopped coming to town.
His harem size kept swelling, until he’d needed the guards to help him satisfy all of the witches.
Daemon had gotten busier with his dark enforcer role and their father became sicker.
Phillip didn’t have time to play.
Had it been five years—maybe only three?
He couldn’t remember the exact last time that he’d been to the city. He’d ridden through it a few times this year on his way elsewhere.
The best swords smith was in the town next—although often, Phillip let his servants pick up his newest broadswords instead of leaving the castle.
This was still not the city that he’d remembered.
What had happened?
Or was it better asked ‘who’ had happened?
There was an atmosphere of fear. Citizens were still going about their daily tasks, but silently.
No one met his eyes, or if they did accidentally, they quickly looked away.
Some shops were dark, the blinds drawn and doors padlocked.
Most notably, children were absent from the streets.
Phillip had been right to follow his instincts and check on Lady Saldor.
Elizabeth’s and Geer’s visit to forewarn him—even though vaguely—had prompted Phillip to more actively search for the betrayer or betrayers at court.
All of the healers and earth-powered servants had been expected to show up at the ‘interrogation’ he’d set up.
Few from the Saldor clan had bothered, including Lady Salador.
George’s mother was ever leaving the castle to mind her family’s estate—housing more demons than twice of any other clan.
Including the demon who had accused Elizabeth of being one herself.
It seemed Lady Saldor had taken the demon’s story seriously. There was a wanted poster for each of the Norwood witches plastered to her city estate’s front gate, along with hefty rewards offered.
“Tear down those posters, Jordan,” Phillip ordered one of his personal guards, accompanying him. “Those witches do not have bounties on them open to the public.”
His other personal guard approached the stone faced soldiers who were ignoring Jordan tearing down posters.
Good, they knew exactly who Phillip was—even if he’d never been here personally.
Stiff earth protocol meant they wouldn’t talk before asked a question. Nor would they open the gates without an order from the Saldor family head—or the king.
That would be Phillip now.
“Henri, let us get on with it and open the gate,” Phillip ordered, providing the direction everyone needed from him.
The stone faced guards bowed deeply.
Henri pushed open the gate, using a good deal of muscle. These were meant for earth-strong soldiers—not a vampire from Phillip’s air clan.
To ask for help would be a weakness. Henri might have a breezy power, but he was built like a mountain.
Hard work had earned Henri his muscled body and a place on Phillip’s personal guard.
The ladies liked Henri’s biceps, too.
The yard within was surprisingly empty. At this time of day, there ought to be more servants about doing work to prepare before the next meal.
“Front door, Phillip?” Jordan asked. “We can leave the horses saddled and standing.”
His personal guardsman were on edge. To suggest the horses be left ready for a quick getaway implied serious mistrust in the hospitality they were about to receive.
“Agreed,” Phillip said.
They dismounted and walked the horses to the trough set to the side of the yard, simply tying their reins to the post to keep their horses ready.
“I will go first,” Henri said. “Jordan, guard our backs.”
Phillip followed between his two men, glad that he hadn’t tried to carry out this chore alone.
Checking up on George’s mother was looking like a bigger job than he’d originally envisioned. There were secrets here he’d not suspected.
What had she been thinking to plaster wanted posters of the Norwoods on their front gate?
Henri rapped sharply on the door for entrance. There were no servants close, enough time passing that Henri knocked again.
Finally, an older servant creaked open the door. It was a slow, onerous process. The servant was bent with age and possessed none of the earth strength of his clan to power his task.
Phillip’s fingers twitched against his effort to hold back his help.
There was no point rushing their entrance. They had no idea what was going on beyond this door. It could be innocent or very dangerous.
Fools rushed.
“K-king P-Phillip?”
Phillip winced at the stuttered, awestruck question the servant had made of his identity.
The door froze, not opened wide enough to allow Phillip to walk through it comfortably, with his wide shoulders.
“We’re in a hurry,” Phillip said tersely.
It was the wrong approach. The servant bowed his head, nearly missing smacking his brow against the edge of the door.
“W-we h-had no notice,” the servant stuttered, sounding
close to tears.
“This is an unscheduled inspection,” Henri lied. “We thank you for your discretion and efficiency in dealing with this request.”
The elderly servant straightened, his spine overcoming its earlier hunch as he let pride fix his posture.
He had a task and the gratitude that few in his position received, even if it was deserved.
“I-I better get this door open.”
It was still slow, but none of them rebuked the servant. They patiently waited until the door was opened wide and the servant bowed once more.
“The underground is where you will find our Lady. She’s with the demons and commanders in a meeting. It is straight down the hall, stairs behind the last door on the left. Unless you wish me to lead you, I will instead get the head butler to ensure your requests for this investigation are met.”
Phillip nodded.
Henri thanked the servant and dismissed him.
“We will be outnumbered,” Jordan quietly commented as they headed in the direction that the servant had outlined.
“I am the king,” Phillip reassured. It was one of the few times that he had said it out loud.
“They’re a bunch of earth lords in their rock den. It’s unwise to approach them,” Henri said, undeterred by Phillip’s claim to fame.
“You cannot crush the wind. Trust in my strength, if not my title. Have you ever seen me lose?” Phillip asked as they approached and stood in front of the last door on the left.
“None would dare truly challenge you,” Jordan scoffed.
“Oh? Let me introduce you better to my brother, Daemon, upon his return. The firstborn and your rightful heir,” Phillip said in a mocking tone.
Jordan’s cheeks reddened. “He’s accused of high treason,” Jordan muttered.
“A lie, I suspect—which I will tear apart brick by brick, starting here,” Phillip said.
He nodded to Henri, who opened the door.
Darkness greeted them. Not even a single torch lit the winding staircase.
“Shield,” Phillip ordered.
Glowing blue light from his own shield provided enough illumination to see the first of the stairs they had to descend.
They walked in silence, Henri still taking the lead.
The feel of strong fire magic drifted up to them. Either due to a large number of those gathered with fire or a particularly strong few.
Witch Darkness Follows (Maeren Series Book 3) Page 45